It Was Raining
Of course it was raining.
The gods conspire in our dramas.
We didn't care. Only our poster
Of The Wild One was getting wet.
We'd been soaked for hours, ducking
In and out of bars along Sixth Avenue.
We were swimming toward K's apartment,
Refugees from the circus matinee
At Madison Square Garden.
Champagne in the empty press box.
Floating on her Daddy's friend's money.
It was July. It was hot. We were young.
She was beautiful. The rain was warm,
The drops fat and squishy. By the time
We got to Eighth Street our minds were extinguished
And our bodies were incendiary.